


The Gay Gatsby

by CoffeesForFuckers



Category: The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: M/M, This was a class project but I can do more shit like this loll, the Gay Gatsby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeesForFuckers/pseuds/CoffeesForFuckers
Summary: The scene where Gatsby and Nick finally meet but from Gatsby's point of view.(AKA, I could choose a project to do for English and I made Gatsby as gay for Nick as Nick is for Gatsby)





	The Gay Gatsby

It truly is a fantastic evening for such a party. The moon was hung high within the sky and the stars on strings above our heads. It’s wonderfully warm with a light breeze. People are loud and there’s swing music being played within the house somewhere. I was just in my garden. I had found some interesting people scattered about the house while I wandered about. Daisy was who I had wished for this evening but, I was willing to settle for a random party-goer that caught my eye.

There had been a woman in the library, studying an antique vase. She was marvelous, big, blue-green eyes and lashes so long that I was sure they would rub against my face if I had kissed her. She was lovely. Though, she just had been waiting for her lover. I also had found a ravishing man in my dining room, his eyes were honey and they matched his stunning long hair. He truly was delightful to stare at. We spoke and he smelled of cinnamon and sugar and cherries. He was surely somebody that I would bed if his wife had not trotted in and interrupted our conversation about semi-queer literature.

I had seen a fair amount of lovely people this evening, though, none were somebody that I could love like I loved Daisy.

That is until I had stumbled upon the man from the bungalow, Nick Carraway. I had seen him from afar and heard most about him from Daisy. They were cousins I believe. But, never had I been this close to him and he stops me in my tracks, I have to take a double-take at him.

He is fantastically fetching. I had invited him, hoping to get closer to Daisy but, him… He's ravishing.

He’s also at my table.

I sit near him, probably too near. Jordan Baker is next to him on his other side while an obnoxious, very drunk woman is sat nearby, laughing at anything and everything that’s being said. 

I turn and look up at the sky once again. There’s a cherry blossom tree above our heads and little pink petals are floating about. A beautiful evening. I turn to look at Carraway again and the little fairy-lights that hang around us, make him glow.

He looks at me during a lull in the fun and I can’t help smiling at him. 

“Your face is familiar,” I say kindly and hopefully. “Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?”

He looks surprised for a moment. “Why, yes. I was in the Ninth Machine-gun Battalion.”

Truly, he is gorgeous as he smiles, tipping his head lightly as he speaks. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.”

We start chatting of some dull places in France. I inform him that I lived in the area and that I had just bought a hydroplane, saying I was to try it out in the morning. “Want to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along the Sound.”

“What time?” He hums, pursing his lips ever so slightly.

I grin at him. “Any time that suits you best.” If it meant he would join, I would wait until midnight. Any time, any place.

Carraway opens his mouth, looking like he may ask me something when Jordan Baker swings around, smiling wide and bold.

“Having a gay time now?” She coos in her silky voice. I flinch at her choice of words.

Nick Carraway looks at her now, his smile less bright. “Much better,” He nods lightly. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there --” He waves his hand past my face in the direction of his teeny-home that is somewhere behind the hedges in the distance, “and this man, Gatsby, sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I look at him in utter confusion and he definitely notices. I’m baffled that he didn’t know who I was and, yet again, why would he.

“I’m Gatsby,” I inform and Carraway nearly jumps from his skin.

“What!?” He exclaims overly loud. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

“I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.” I smile at him and in that moment he seems to get lost. His eyes are big and milky, beautiful. And, don’t get me started on his lips. They were pink, nearly red and plump. They were lovely and in no way at all dry, they look beyond kissable and I would, in fact, kiss them. I won’t.

I can’t.

I would if I could though. We’re staring, just staring back and forth and I can tell that he and I bat for the same team. 

If only that team wasn’t banned from the league.

What I mean is that if I kissed him right here, right now, we would be thrown in prison, or worse, sentenced to death. Homosexuality in any form was punishable by either one, depending on the violation and the amount of homophobia in the courtroom. 

I wouldn’t curse him like that. 

That’s when my butler, Henri, rushed to my side to inform me that Chicago was on the wire for me.

“If you want anything --” And, by anything, I mean drinks or maybe an evening together, “just ask for it, old sport,” I urge. “Excuse me, I will rejoin you later.”

And, with that, my time with the great and darling, Nick Carraway, was over.


End file.
